


Piece Me Together

by ThirtyFiveAndNine



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I wrote them not a couple for once, San Francisco Giants, This is weird, dealing with mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 22:55:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtyFiveAndNine/pseuds/ThirtyFiveAndNine
Summary: Belt struggles with depression and has difficulty keeping his medication in check. Sometimes he forgets, and sometimes he slips. Crawford is always there to grab him if he falls, and if he can't catch him, he helps piece him back together.





	Piece Me Together

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a spur-of-the-moment-i-suddenly-had-inspiration-and-that-never-happens-anymore-so-i-ran-with-it moment, which also happened to be at 6 in the morning. Therefore, I'm sorry if there's typos or if it's just terrible in general. I miss writing, so hopefully this helps break the mental block with it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyways.

Belt doesn’t realize he’s staring into space until he feels a sudden hand on his shoulder. The touch is gentle, feather like, but still causes his body to tense and jump. He discovers its only Craw as he turns his head; the shortstop sits next to him, keeping his distance, but close enough for Belt to feel his body heat. His eyes are calm like always, a type of calm Belt is sure he’s never felt in his life. He’s jealous of it.

“Bad day?”

Crawford is soft spoken as always. Belt can’t remember the last time the guy ever spoke above average volume, hell he can’t even name a time Crawford lost his temper during all their years in The Show. Even when he was angry at a play, or a call an ump made, he was still so settled. His emotions were so tamed.

Belt swallows and shrugs.

Crawford’s lips turn up in the slightest way. “That’s a yes,” he answers for Belt. “It’s alright. Happens. Did you take your meds this morning?”

Belt mindlessly sucks his bottom lip in, sinking teeth into it. He shakes his head faintly, forcing his voice to work. “No,” his voice is small, quiet. “I forgot.”

Crawford hums. “Is this the first day you forgot?”

Belt blinks, trying to remember. Is it? Did he take them yesterday? Or the day before? He isn’t sure. How isn’t he sure? It was such a simple task. Take two pills in the morning when he woke up, eat breakfast soon after. Two steps, yet he can’t seem to handle that. Why can’t he handle that. Why can’t he-

“Bran,” Crawford says, somehow even softer than before. His hand is resting on Belt’s back, between his shoulders. “Hey, it’s alright. Okay? It’s alright. We can see if you’ve been keeping track.” he reminds him. “The trainers need to know too, remember? They keep track for you.”

Belt swallows again, more thick. He doesn’t remember his vision getting blurred. “Right,” he croaks. “Okay.” He doesn’t look to Crawford, keeps his eyes ahead in a dead stare. It makes the older man frown.

Crawford moves his hand slowly, gingerly rubbing Belt’s back. “I’ll go check for you,” he explains, “Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Despite him staring ahead, Belt doesn’t see Crawford get up and leave the room to find said trainers. His eyes are open but his brain put black blinders over them, blocking out all the color in his world. His chest felt heavy, feet to match, like each foot had a cinder block underneath it. He’s breathing, but they're short and shallow gasps; like the air was getting thinner each time he took a breath, as if the world was telling him he didn’t deserve it. 

Belt isn’t sure how long Crawford is gone, but when he comes back, he’s in front of Belt, chair pulled around so he could rest his hands on Belt’s thighs and get in front of his thousand yard stare. His eyes are still calm, but now have a sudden hint of something else. Belt can see his mouth moving but doesn’t really understand what he’s saying. Everything was so quiet too loudly. All he could hear was himself in his head, screaming to stop being such a fucking burden and snap out of it. Crawford shouldn’t have to babysit him, trainers shouldn’t have to keep track if he took fucking pills or not. That isn’t their job.

Hands are on his cheeks, cupping his face. It makes him gasp, eyes wide, and flinch back. Crawford looks stressed as Belt finally comes out of his grim trance and removes his hands, returning them to Belt’s knees. “I’m sorry,” he rushes, “I needed you to respond to me. I won’t do it again.”

Belt slowly lowers his hands that shot up in defense, but instead of landing in his lap his fingers end up picking at one another, nails digging into skin. Crawford wants to stop him but doesn’t move his own hands. “Can you hear me now?” he asks. His voice is a twinge less calm.

Belt barley nods.

Crawford nods back. “Okay. The trainers told me you never went to see them yesterday, and you left before they could ask you. You didn’t see them this morning either, right?”

Belt shakes his head, feeling numb.

“So you missed two days.” Craw concludes. “At least we know, and we can fix it. It’s alright,” he assures, “People makes mistakes, it’s no big deal.”

“I’m sorry,” Belt pushes out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t forget, I don’t, I don’t know why-...” he starts to ramble, feeling his throat get tighter until his voice is choked off, eyes glassy. Crawford gives him a sympathetic smile and gives his knees a light squeeze.

“It’s alright, Brandon. I promise. No one’s mad at you.” he tries to calm the man in front of him before he went too far gone. “The trainers still want you to take your dose today, though. Even if it’s a little off time wise. They have your backup prescription in their office. You can start fresh again tomorrow.”

Belt doesn’t understand how Crawford was so even voiced and patient with him. Every time Belt screwed up with this, or something else, Crawford was always there to grab him before he fell, or help piece him back together if he did. He never got angry or fed up, never even gave Belt a dirty look through it all. He just remained calm, collected, and gentle.

“Why do you do that?” Belt ends up thinking out loud. His voice is uneven, tears still threatening to appear. Crawford tilts his head.

“Do what?”

“Help me,” Belt sniffles, “You’re so- so patient… You shouldn’t have too- it’s not your, your job to help me with my problems, you shouldn’t-” His brain won’t let him string a full sentence together, causing him to get more frustrated. This was so stupid. He’s such an embarrassment. Everyone’s sick of his act. He wishes it would go away, he wishes he could go away.

“Brandon,” Crawford’s voice finds his name again. Just the soft sound could break through Belt’s panic enough to get him to look at the older man. He sees Crawford’s hands moving this time, doesn’t jump when he feels them again his skin, wiping tears he wasn’t aware of from his cheeks.

“Look at me,” Crawford continues to nearly whisper. Belt somehow gets himself to listen. “You are not a problem. You aren’t.” he states firmly, yet somehow gentle. “Your depression doesn’t make you a problem. It never did. Never will. You’ll hit rough patches like this one, but it’s okay. It’s normal, and it’s normal to need help when they appear.”

“It… It’s not normal.” Belt tries to argue. He doesn’t recognize his own voice. Crawford shakes his head once.

“It’s more normal than your brain is letting you think, I promise.” he presses, “I wouldn’t lie to you. And you know it yourself. You just can’t think correctly right now, but that’s okay. We’re gonna fix it.” Crawford moves his hands from Belt’s jawline to his hands that were still picking themselves raw. He grips them loosely, but tight enough to squeeze as lightly as he could.

“And I promise you on my life, I don’t mind helping you in the slightest.” he tells him, “I want to help you. I want you to feel like you can come to me if you need help, or even just someone to talk too. You’re one of my best friends and I care about you. A lot.” 

Belt watches Crawford’s eyes; still calm, but something else breaking through. Not panic or stress, some other emotion. More raw. From the heart. He breathes out shakily.

Crawford smiles small, yet it brings such a warm comfort. “You can always come to me, Belt. Please remember that. You aren’t bothering me. I don’t mind. I want you healthy and safe.” he squeezes his hands again, a little more force behind it. “Okay?”

It takes a minute, Belt forcing the wall his brain set up in his mind to crumble and let Craw’s words really melt in. Eventually he nods, still a small movement but more animated than before. Craw wouldn’t lie to him. He never has.

Crawford’s smile grows a bit wider and he stands from his chair, not letting go of Belt’s hands. He tugs on them as he stands, hinting for Belt to follow. He does, slowly getting to his feet. It’s then Crawford finally releases his hold on him. “I’ll come with you,” he tells the first baseman, “C’mon. You’ll feel better soon.”

Crawford starts to head towards the clubhouse doors, watching over his shoulder to make sure Belt was following. His feet still felt unbelievably heavy, legs like jello above them, but Belt manages and keeps close behind him. Crawford holds the door open for him as they exit the room, giving him a kind-soul smile as Belt walked past.

As they walk through the halls to the trainers office, Belt’s mind had quieted down since Crawford first entered his vision that morning, but it was still talking. It never stopped, even with his medication, just got more muted, enough for him to ignore it and focus on whatever he needed.

“How do you always know?” he finds himself asking quietly. 

Crawford looks to him. “Know what?”

“When something is wrong,” Belt mutters, “When… When I have a ‘bad day’. You always know.” he explains, “How?”

Crawford smiles, a real Brandon Crawford smile that had pearly white teeth and made girls of all ages weak in the knees. He reaches out and puts his arm around Belt’s shoulders, pulling him closer as they walked. Belt stumbles a little, but doesn’t pull away. The extra weight for once didn’t feel crushing. It was comfort. Peace.

“Like I said, you’re one of my best friends.” Crawford says, smiling. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you, BB.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly don't think I've ever written them as just friends, published or not-finished stories. It felt weird, but right for this story. Ha.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments are appreciated.


End file.
